Shaping Fate

Shaping Fate

written by
Kayla Payeur

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Your non-refundable purchase allows you to one legal copy of this work for your own personal use.  You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book.  This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload, or for a fee.

Warning:
  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this work is illegal.  Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. 

Disclaimer:
  This book may contain explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: male/male sexual practices, multiple partner sexual practices, strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play.  This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.  Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experience practitioner.  Neither Rebel Ink Press LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Publisher’s Note: 
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity. Final edits rest with the author of this work.  We give them a bit of space.  They are Rebels after all...

A Word from Rebel:
  Thank you for purchasing this title.  We support authors and ask you to remember that the only money most authors make from writing comes from book sales.  If you like this work, please check for upcoming titles from this author via the link on our website and spread the word.  If you see “free shares” offered or cut-rate sales on pirate sites, please report the offending entry to [email protected].  Thank you for not pirating our titles.  Pirates suck!

Cover Artist: Carl J. Franklin

First Edition

©2013, Rebel Ink Press, LLC

www.rebelinkpress.com

To my family, for always believing in me, and to my friends for helping me breathe life into my characters.

She didn’t have a name
. Her life-long home was an isolated tropical island that had never known another human’s tread. The only thing she knew was carving.

When she carved,
whether it was stone, wood, bone, or sand, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Sleep, food, and drink meant nothing; she couldn’t stop until she’d finished.

After several weeks of constant work, she staggered back weakly and stared at the newest statue; the image of the man that haunted her dre
ams. It stood seven and a half feet tall with a six inch pedestal making it top out at eight feet. Obsidian wings curled forward as if to wrap around something he held, protecting it. His eyes were a piercing blue, sapphires being the perfect shade for the dream man’s glowing orbs. The setting sun lit his face, making him seem alive, warm. She stared, mesmerized by her own creation.

“
What in Hades do you think you’re doing?”  A hard, angry voice sounded behind her. Startled, she spun, lost her balance and fell hard on her butt. The man was golden in every sense of the word. Perfectly combed, short blonde hair, richly tanned skin, and amber eyes that glared at her with an emotion she couldn’t name. His face might have been handsome, if she’d ever seen another real man to compare him to, not just statues. However, his voice was as hard as the granite she so loved.

“
You stupid, ungrateful, insolent mortal bitch!”  His voice rose with every word. His clenched fist snapped forward and met her shocked face, splitting her lip and knocking her onto her back. Fists and feet brutally battered her body as she tried, in vain, to protect herself from his horrible wrath. After only a few seconds, she could no longer move, and moments later, she only knew blackness.

His name was Thanatos
, and he was death. Literally. As son of Nyx, the Primordial Goddess of Night, Thane was the first and most powerful God of Death. He stood a staggering seven and a half feet tall, with raven black hair and leathery wings that absorbed light while electric blue eyes froze mortals dead. Again, literally.

An intense blackness that reeked of power, danger, and terror surrounded him constantly
. He could send it from him if he wished, but why would he? He enjoyed being feared, reveled in the whispered horror stories told about him throughout the mortal and immortal worlds. Even the other gods feared him, for there were few who were older or more powerful than he.

His home
lay near the edge of the Fields of Asphodel on the south shore of The Lethe, a lake that contained the Waters of Oblivion in the central realm of Hades. One drop of the Waters would make you wonder where you parked your car; a full swallow would make you forget how to control all bodily function
s
—
breathing, for instance.

When not out collecting souls,
Thane bred and raised the immortals’demon horses and hellhound
s
—
he had to do something to fill his time, after all. Gathering souls for the Underworld became immensely boring after the first couple millennia.

As
Thane entered his stable, the animals cowered in fear. All but one. The stallion was pitch black, soaking up any light that touched him. His nose snorted fire as stomping steel hooves struck sparks across the stall. Living flame burned in place of the massive creature’s eyes. The beast had been created by Thane's grandmother, Chaos. During a very dark part of his life, Chaos had given Thane the contrary creature he affectionately called Azrael.

About time you got here
. What are you going to do with her, and why is she in my stall? Oh, and you may want to do something quick; she’s hurt rather badly.

Thane
was still amazed that Azrael could mind-speak with him. It made things rather handy in the stable, when the brute wasn’t insulting him. The animal’s current words, however, confused him to no end. “What are you talking about?”

The girl that materialized in my stall a few minutes ago
. Looks to me like she met up with the wrong side of a pair of fists
.

“
Is there a right side to a pair of fists?”  Thane asked absently as he looked at the bloody bundle of cloth and meat on the floor of the stall. He felt his powers surge in a new way, pulling him toward the battered female.

Of course, you’re on the right side when the fists are attached to your wrists.

Thane felt a tiny fluttering of emotion in his chest accompanied by slight change in his facial expression. He ruthlessly quelled both before they could grow further. He couldn’t afford to feel strong emotion. Not joy, not anger, not passion… not love. These emotions sent his powers out of control, causing horrors the likes of which mortals no longer remembered. All those who had experienced them were dead.

Pulling himself out of his morose past,
Thane eyed the demon horse warily. “Why haven’t you trampled her?” he asked. Normally, that would have been Azrael’s first response to a stranger in his stall.

I don’t feel like trampling her; she’s been hurt enough
. Come in and get her. I won’t charge at you for a change.

Thane
nodded gratefully. He usually enjoyed their sparring matches, pitting himself against a creature that was almost at his level of strength and cunning, but right now, he just wanted to get the woman out of there.

The moment he touched her, he realized what his powers were trying to tell him
.
Heal her
, they whispered. He pulled back quickly; he hadn’t healed anyone since he was a boy of three centuries. It had almost ruined his beloved dark reputation. He couldn’t ignore the urge, however; his powers crawled under his skin in visible waves, seeking a way out of his body to heal the girl on the floor.

He glanced quickly up and down the hallway, making certain that no one
would witness this moment of weakness. Positive that no one was around, he curled his leathery wings about the girl and again laid his hands on her.

“
Tell anyone what happens here, and you’ll find out why they call me Lord Death,” he growled.

No worries
. I’ll keep your dirty little secret of healing. Who knows? It might make good blackmail material in the future.

Thane
ignored the insolent horse as he felt his powers surge in unfamiliar ways.

“
What the hell was I thinking? I should have gotten rid of her the moment I healed her. I could have left her in Artemis’ temple. She would have been cared for there. Hell, Demeter’s temple would have taken the girl.”  His wings twitched in irritation; catching himself, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finding a measure of calm, Thanatos opened his eyes and stood looking at the girl asleep on the cot. She hadn’t awakened once since he’d found her three days ago. He studied her features silently.

Waist-length, thick
golden locks spilled across the pillow in waves. High cheekbones and winged brows accented a small, rather cute nose. His gaze kept falling to her full, dusky-rose lips. Every time he came in to check on her, he had to fight the impulse to see if the mortal legends of Sleeping Beauty were true, see if a kiss to those tempting lips would help her wake. He didn’t think Beauty would want to be awakened like that by the Beast, though.

He hadn’t been able to completely heal her; there were still visible bruises on her arms, legs, and face
. The coarse blanket covered the rest of her body, but he knew that there were bruises there as well. He recalled seeing several perfect hand and boot impressions on her soft skin. The memory made him feel strongly enough to cause a disaster. Good thing he lived in a place that was impervious to his rare black mood.

The girl shifted and moaned softly
. He refused to analyze why the sound caused his blood to heat and his blackened heart to squeeze uncomfortably. He scowled.

“
Wake up, already. I have better things to do than stand here waiting for you to decide when to come around.”